


Leave Me Be

by SecretShadowDust



Category: Hat Films - Fandom, Hatfilms, The Yogscast
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Drinking, Dry heaving, Friendship, I'm incapable of writing anyhting that isnt angsty, M/M, Mental Illness, Mentions of Scuicidal Thoughts, Mentions of other yogscast members - Freeform, Overthinking, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, abusive household, growing relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 11:39:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14135322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretShadowDust/pseuds/SecretShadowDust
Summary: Chris Trotts wandering through a world he doesn’t know how to fit into.  He can barely breathe under the weight of his own life and the anxiety that constantly plagues him.When a certain person waltzes into his life and sends his world spinning (even more than usual), he doesn't know what to do.





	Leave Me Be

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired to write this story after a couple hard weeks. Anxiety has been worse than normal and it's been harder than normal. I was at my soccer practice the other day and I couldn't speak to anyone, I felt sick and I couldn't catch my breath. My hands were shaking. 
> 
> Let's just say it's been a hard couple weeks, and I felt compelled to write about anxiety, so this is how I did it. This didn't really turn out how I thought it would... oh well.
> 
> Enjoy!

Trott stood at the bar, his back to the crowded tables of the pub. He stared straight ahead at the wall, eyes unfocused and eyebrows drawn in blank thought. When the bartender stepped in front of him, it took him a little bit too long to grab his attention. 

Trott blinked and cleared his throat, mumbling an apology before ordering two shots of tequila. The man gave him a sidelong look as he went to grab the bottle; Trott did his best to ignore it, glancing over his shoulder at the crowd.

There was a flash of black in the back corner that drew his gaze to where his ‘friends’ were still sitting. He could just see the top of Kim’s head as she leaned over the table, swiping Ross’ beer and taking a swig before her friend could grab it back. He swore he could hear the echo of Kim’s joyful giggles from where he was.

It would probably still be a bit before any of them wandered over to the bar, even if their glasses were empty they weren’t at the heavy drinking stage yet. Eventually Lewis or Kim would come over and get a round of shots and then the real party would begin. 

Looking back on the nights Trott had spent with the group, where late-night-drinking often turned into early-morning-drinking, all that came to mind were blurry memories—with the occasional tragic hangover. And yet, every time Trott thought about returning to the table, the little food in his stomach churned and the beat of his heart went from a flutter to a full out panicked gallop. 

He tried to think of something that could have triggered the sudden rush of anxiety, but whenever he searched his thought he came up empty. It was just as his father had always persisted; Trott was fucked in the head, screwy, a whining bitch with nothing to complain about. 

A lump formed in his throat as his father’s vicious curses sprang to the forefront of his mind. If he closed his eyes he could see the fury in his father’s gaze, the disgust he made no attempt to hide whenever he looked at him. He didn’t close his eyes, just dug his fingernails into the sensitive flesh of his palm and pushed the painful memories into a dark place in the back of his mind. 

When the bartender placed the two shots in front of Trott, there were welts on his palm. He stared down at the first shot, peering into the liquid, searching for some semblance of a reflection; after a minute of seeing nothing but the glint of light, a tightness began to grow in the back of his throat. He reached out and gripped the edge of the bar, his nails denting the soft wood. 

 

Since Trott had been a child, he’d had trouble with the solidity of things. His father came and went sporadically; he and his mom often had to move around every time she lost a job; Trott’s dad stole whatever would get him another drink; the one thing Trott had always been able to count on was his reflection.

Trott would sit on the bathroom counter and stare into the dirty mirror, fingers pressed to the cool glass as dishes shattered against a wall a couple rooms away. He would look at himself and know he was _there_ , even if the mirror was cracked and the paint behind him was different then the day before. It was looking into a shattered mirror, thousands of himself staring back, when he decided he wouldn’t let him hurt her anymore. It was looking into a mirror, with tear streaks running down his face, that he decided to stick around for one more day, and one more day after that, and one more after that; and so the pattern continued, no matter where he was, there was a mirror there to assure him that he was still _there_.

 

The bartender cleared his throat loudly and Trott startled out of his stupor. The older man raised an eyebrow as he cleaned a dusty glass, Trott just smiled weakly and looked back at the two shots. He avoided the bartenders gaze, fingers resting around the base of the first glass. 

With one last glance at the corner of the pub, Trott assured himself the group was staying in place, and then knocked back the first shot. The liquor burned all the way down, Trott managing to suppress a reaction except a slight wince. 

It was his intention to wait at least five minutes before doing his second one, but a slight increase in volume from the general area where his ‘friends’ were had his stomach twisting itself into new knots. He rubbed his hands together anxiously and cracked his knuckles.

Kim and Ross were his closest friends in the bunch, the only ones who knew anything about him—despite the fact that all they really knew was his birthday. Trott liked Ross so much because he didn’t press, just sat back and listened, well, maybe observed was more accurate. Though he hadn’t told him much, he was sure he had figured out a lot of things on his own. But no matter what he observed or suspected, he never acted any different around him.

His bond with Kim had grown stronger when he’d learned she was as bad a cinephile as him. They spent the majority of their time together watching movies or critiquing ones they’d both seen. It was rare for them to agree. 

A small smile flitted across his face as he thought about their latest disagreement, they hadn’t settled it and he was eager to do so. However, when he thought about going back to the table now he felt like he was going to puke, and was sure he would have keeled over if not for the bar’s support.

Did they even want him there? They were really their friends, ones who he never quite fit in with. If they really wanted him here, one of them would have come looking for him when he was gone for more than ten minutes; he’d been gone at least twenty. 

But hadn’t they brought him here? Hadn’t they invited him? A small part of him agreed with this eagerly, why would they invite him if they didn’t want him here? But doubt had seeped into his thoughts; Ross was nice, he would have asked him because he knew he wasn’t doing anything and it would be the kind thing to do. They didn’t want him here, not really. 

He downed the second shot before he could think, it barely burned as it went down. It wasn’t enough. His thoughts were swirling at hyper speed in his head and he needed to calm the flow before he threw up. So he waved at the bartender, signaling for another round. 

As soon as the tequila was in front of him he threw back the first shot. 

While he waited for his vision to stop swimming he gazed around the bar dumbly, eyes skimming over the faces and the groups but absorbing nothing. From where he was he could glimpse the front window over several heads, it looked cool and dark, considerably more so then when he had entered. After staring at nothing in particular for a minute, Trott decided the heat rising to his face was far too much. He needed to splash water on his face or go outside, but he decided a bar seat closer to the window would do just fine. 

Trott grabbed the other shot and shifted over a couple of stools. Plunking down on one close enough to the entrance that a breeze shifted his hair when someone went through the door. 

There was a quiet buzz at the back of Trott’s mind, slowly growing with every minute he spent staring into nothing. The world had begun to tilt around him and he grabbed the bar to anchor himself, worried he might be sent lurching to the side. The door swung open behind him, a cool wind sweeping over the back of his neck. He closed his eyes to relish in the chilly breeze and refocus himself.

Somewhere behind him a man called a greeting across the bar, “Hey Kim! Ross!” Trott’s eyes snapped open and he turned slightly in his chair to look around. Two men had just walked through the entrance, tall guys wrapped in thick coats. The one on the left was wearing a broad smile and waving at the corner of the pub, he was bigger than his companion, a thick mess of auburn hair catching the light. 

The guy on the right had a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, but even at Trott’s angle he could make out a bright smile as he shook his head at the redheaded man. The pair moved deeper into the bar and Trott shifted so he could track their movement. 

A small woman burst from behind a group of people, her short hair bounced across her forehead as she enveloped the two men in a single hug. When they parted Kim was smiling at both of them, her mouth moving a mile a minute but Trott couldn’t hear anything she was saying. 

His gut twisted as he watched the three of them joke and laugh before Kim lead them towards the back of the bar. She had forgotten about him. He wanted to leave. He wanted to get out of the small crowded pub. His head was still swimming and nausea built in the pit of his stomach. Trott closed his eyes and took a deep breath, but no matter what he did, he knew the slow building anxiety would not go away. 

Trott hunched forward over the bar, retreating into his mind and making himself smaller. He gazed at the last shot for a moment before reaching out and grabbing the glass. It was cool in his grasp, the yellow tinted tequila sitting just below the rim. He stared at it. He knew it wouldn’t help the anxiety; one too many attempts at “self-medicating” had done little more than supply him with headaches and even worse panic attacks. Nonetheless, it would help him drown away the rest of his night. He took the shot. 

*******

It didn’t take long for him to feel the effects of the nights drinking, the previous shots finally shoving their way to the forefront. He was overheating. His stomach was cartwheeling and somersaulting. His tongue was dry. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

He barely made it out the door before he started heaving. He hitched forward at the waist, one hand resting against the wall of the alley as he panted. Sweat prickled along his forehead and stung his eyes as it slipped down his nose. His stomach heaved but nothing came up; not that there wasn’t anything inside, it’s just that it wouldn’t come up, no matter how hard his body tried to expel it. 

After ten minutes Trott straightened. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and spat bile onto the ground. He still felt like shit. The world was still spinning. The overwhelming urge to get away burned its way through his thoughts. He turned toe and ran away from the bar. 

*******

When Trott got back to his tiny flat, he collapsed on the ratty couch, too tired to make it to the bedroom. He managed to pull his jacket off, throwing it into a corner, but couldn’t reach his shoes and quickly gave up any attempts. 

During the walk back to his place he’d been too focused on not falling over or collapsing in an alley, that his mind had been preoccupied. Now, as he lay alone in silence, his thoughts strayed back to Kim and Ross. The familiar anxiety grew in his throat and he stuffed his face into the couch’s arm rest, choking back a sob. 

God, he was a mess. He wouldn’t blame either of them if they didn’t want to speak to him ever again, he’d disappeared and then ditched them (not that they’d wanted him there in the first place). It was probably just the excuse they were looking for to cut ties. 

Trott felt the first tears gather in his eyes and made no attempt to stop them from flowing, it didn’t matter, he was alone. Yet as the tears slipped down his face he felt weak and pathetic. 

All his emotions swirled endlessly in his mind and he fell asleep with a sour taste in the back of his throat and anxiety curling in is stomach.


End file.
